Her father was staring at her. The dream dissipated as Jane returned to reality, and the realisation that her father was days away from death made the dream a fitting metaphor for her despair.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice husky.
“Yes,” she smiled and stretched. “Are you?”
“A little thirsty.”
“Let me get you some water.” She busied herself looking after him, lifting the bed, helping him to sit up a little, smoothing his covers followed by his forehead. “Can’t you sleep?” she asked.
“Plenty of time for that, as Bon Jovi might say.”
Jane’s stomach clenched. “Do you need something for the pain?”
“Not yet. In a while.” Her father’s face was as white as his pillow case.
“Would you like me to read some more to you? It might help you go off a little easier.” Jane desperately wanted to feel useful.
Perhaps her father understood. “Yes,” he replied. “Read to me.”
Jane angled a lamp so that she could see what she was reading without bathing the rest of the room in light, and finished an article about the making of Fleetwood Mac’s album Rumours - one of her father’s favourites - and turned the page. She had read most of the magazine now, and the next few pages were comprised of adverts for forthcoming concerts and album releases.
The familiar red and black logo for Wild Dogz caught her eye instantly. “Whoa!”
“What?” Roy asked, blinking at her in the subdued light.
“It looks like Wild Dogz have a tour coming up after all.”
“And a new album?”
“It doesn’t say that, although you’d assume it wouldn’t be one without the other. That’s brilliant news!”
“It is. You’ll have to go and see them.”
Jane beamed. “Oh I’d love to. Let’s see. A couple of London gigs, Manchester, Newcastle or Birmingham, Brighton, Portsmouth, Sheffield and … ta da! Bristol. Ideal!”
“That’s great,” her father sighed tiredly. “I wish I could come with you, but my gigging days are over.”
Jane reached out and stroked his arm, tears pricking at her eyes. “I wish you could too.”
“Except I’d hate to stand in the way of you meeting the perfect man. A gig like that, your ideal fella is bound to be in the audience, clad in a Wild Dogz t-shirt and wearing a smelly old leather jacket with Whitesnake and Black Sabbath badges sewn on it.”
“He sounds perfect. I’ll probably go with Tim though,” Jane chided softly.
Roy shook his head slightly and closed his eyes.
***
Roy Edward Fraser passed peacefully away in his sleep two days later, with Jane, Ella, and Roy’s Mum Lillian by his bedside. The women huddled together to weep for their loss and then, when the time came for them to take their reluctant leave of his body, they gathered his meagre belongings together, to carry home.
“Oh Jane,” said Ella. “There’s this.” She handed her daughter an envelope. It had been in the drawer by the bed along with his shaving kit and other toiletries.
Jane carefully tore the envelope open and drew out the contents. It contained a card with a kitten climbing out of a watering can. It was incredibly twee and not her Dad’s style at all. She wondered where he’d found it. Perhaps a nurse had given it to him. Inside the card were five crisp ten pound notes. The card had a message, written with a shaky hand, although still recognisably her father’s.
“Buy the tickets. Take Terri. Have a few beers for me. Take care of your Mum for me. And keep an eye out for your eternal flame. I’ll always be watching over you, Dad.”
Chapter 3
Mid-September
Jane waited impatiently for Terri to come out of the ladies. There were never enough women’s toilets in these concert halls. The queues stretched around the block. It was ridiculous. Jane was fortunate to have a cast iron bladder; however, Terri couldn’t pass the facilities without paying a visit. No doubt she was also making the most of the opportunity to touch up her make-up. Tonight, she looked immaculate as always. Tiny black skirt, sheer black tights and enormous platform soled leather boots that finished just below her knee. Her black hair was bobbed these days, poker straight and ultra-shiny. Tonight she had applied dramatic eye make-up and black lipstick, and teamed the whole thing up with an old Siouxsie and the Banshees t-shirt.
Jane eyed herself critically in the reflective surface of a vending machine. Her dark brown hair was loose and clean, in need of a good trim. At Terri’s insistence she had donned some basic make-up: eyeliner, mascara, a touch of blush and some lip gloss, but that was at far as it went. She was wearing Roy’s old leather jacket over a white vest t-shirt and jeans, and her old Dr Martens.
She didn’t care what she looked like, she was here for the music.
This was only the second time she had been able to see Wild Dogz. They had toured in the UK briefly after releasing Feral Green, but unfortunately Jane hadn’t been able to travel to the venue. When the band released their third album, Forever Carnal, Jane had managed to score tickets to The Roundhouse in Camden and dragged Tim along to that. The group had blown her away and she found herself unable to settle for days afterwards.
So here she was at the Bristol show, with the floor tickets her Dad’s money had paid for, with Terri instead of Tim, as he had insisted, and the one remaining crisp ten pound note in her purse.
She missed Roy, imagined she could smell him on his jacket, although given how often she had worn it since he’d passed away, she was probably inhaling her own scent rather than his. In the old days, the jacket had reeked of patchouli oil. Ella had commented how much she had loved that smell, and bought a bottle to spray on her bedlinen. Perhaps, Jane thought, she should consider reinfusing the leather.
Terri danced out of the ladies’ at last.
“Finally,” said Jane. “I was beginning to think you’d been spirited away somewhere.”
“It takes time to look this good, kid,” Terri replied and winked saucily.
“You do look bloody amazing,” Jane replied and linked her arm through Terri’s. “Let’s go and get some beers.”
They joined the throng of people around the bar, and wormed their way through to the front every time someone moved away. It was a free-for-all, and simply a case of catching the eye of one of the servers. Jane took her purse from her pocket and pulled out the ten-pound note, intending to wave it at the bar staff. She held it in her hands, aware that this was one of the last gifts her father had ever given her, one of the final things he had touched. She froze, her throat tight with emotion. “Have a few beers for me,” his card said, and she fully intended to spend his money this evening, in his memory. It was what he wanted. Now, faced with giving it away, she found herself unable to do it.
Terri jogged her elbow, puzzled. They were at the front of the crowd. “What’s up?”
Jane frowned, “Sorry, it’s my Dad’s money,” she said. “It’s … I don’t know.”
Terri regarded her friend for a moment thoughtfully, and shook her head. “Put it away. I make an absolute mint and you’re going to be a student for the rest of your life. The drinks are on me.” She lifted her face to the ceiling. “Sorry Roy!” she called and hugged Jane.
“He won’t mind,” Jane said and they laughed together.
***
The auditorium was rammed. The women weaved their way through the gathering crowds, juggling their beers and pushing their way through tight knit groups of fans until they reached an area where Jane felt comfortable. Slightly back from where they expected the mosh crowd to be, and to the right of centre.
“Is this as far as you’re going?” Terri complained.
“You know it.”
It was always the same. They had a routine. Once the band got going if they became separated in the excited, jostling crowd, they would meet up by the bar after the event. Neither would go home without the other one. It was the rule. In the old days that usually meant Jane
playing gooseberry until they made it home and she could escape from Terri and whomever her latest conquest happened to be, to the privacy of her own bedroom. She imagined tonight would be different because Terri was spending the night in Bristol at Jane’s flat, and sleeping on her sofa.
The support act was a popular upcoming death metal band from Sweden, Edge of Sanity. The mosh pit went wild for them, and Jane enjoyed their set too, while Terri only rolled her eyes when some of the numbers ran on a little longer than could hold her interest, and made her way back out to the bar. The fusion of metal with progressive rock was something Roy would have definitely enjoyed, and Jane ached to think of him.
In the months since his death she had struggled with her feelings of grief. The sorrow had settled deep inside her, lodged tight in the pit of her stomach like a lump of granite. Her sense of loss pervaded every breath. And yet, she had found it hard to cry for him. She bottled up her feelings and tried to get on with life.
Life. She hadn’t been particularly successful with that. Having completed her degree, she had signed up to take a Master’s in Education at the University part time over two years. Tim had progressed from MA to PhD and she imagined they would both make their lives in one form of academia or another. Her father had been so proud of her, and she knew he had hoped she would have a fulfilling and successful career. Yet once Roy had received his diagnosis and exhausted all possible treatments, Jane had suspended her studies in order to be with him. That had seemed the most important thing to do at the time.
She’d had every intention of heading back to her course in September, however September had come and gone and Jane had not re-enrolled. She worked part time at the local supermarket, and spent most of her time reading or drawing. She had listened to far less music since Roy had passed away, because every tune reminded her of him, and she felt his loss too keenly.
Now she smiled, and imagined him tinkering with the old Vincent motorcycle he’d kept in bits in the garage, listening to Edge of Sanity, and playing impressive air guitar when he thought no-one was watching.
Terri interrupted her reverie, returning from the bar with two new pints. Bitter for Jane, lager for Terri. They were full to the brim. Jane marvelled at how Terri could get through the crowds without spilling a drop.
Edge of Insanity departed the stage to rapturous applause and cheers. The hall hummed with thousands of excited voices as the stage was cleared. Jane, feeling too warm, fanned herself.
“You shouldn’t have worn your jacket here. You’re bound to overheat, and you can’t just drop it on the floor. Once the music starts you’ll lose it,” Terri said.
“I know. I know. Maybe I’ll take it out to the cloakroom. I’m going to melt if I wear it much longer.”
“I wonder what time they’ll come on,” Terri said.
Jane glanced at her watch. “No earlier than nine I’d imagine. Maybe later.”
“Plenty of time then. Finish your beer. I need to go the ladies. Don’t roll your eyes at me. I’ll take your jacket and pick up a few more bevies on the way back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Am I sure I have to pee? Yes. Chill your boots. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Terri wiggled away again and Jane watched her go. She stood alone, although a couple of guys in brand new Wild Dogz t-shirts engaged her in conversation for some time. She was polite and friendly, and was glad that Terri wasn’t around to send covert messages about chatting them up.
By ten past nine, Terri hadn’t returned. The sound guys and stage crew had quit the stage which was now bathed in darkness. Jane glanced up. There was a good lighting rig above her head. Wild Dogz were really pushing the boat out with this tour. The new album, Astral Scream, was already riding high in the charts in the USA and Japan, and was expected to do well in Europe. Wild Dogz had broken into the mainstream and world domination was rumoured to be only a matter of months away.
The sense of expectation in the crowd started to build. People shuffled, clapped and cat called. There were piercing whistles and the sounds of stamping. Jane glanced around, searching for Terri but there was still no sign. She wouldn’t worry. Terri could take care of herself, and had probably already slipped right to the front.
The noise swelled to a crescendo as several shapes slipped among the shadows. Yes. They were taking their places. Mikhail, the drummer on his plinth; the bass guitarist, John to the left; the lead guitarist Bobo, to the right, and was that Silas? Jane craned her neck to peer through the darkness. Maybe.
Three beats on the drum and the crowd exploded and rushed forwards. Jane almost lost her footing and had to make a grab for the man in front in order to keep herself upright. Forwards and backwards the crowd surged, and Jane, used to a certain amount of argy-bargying at concerts, knew her only choice would be to go with it. From experience she understood that the crowd at a rock concert is like the sea, it ebbs and flows along with the music, and you’ll only drown if you try to fight it.
The third guitarist appeared to be a session musician, because with a deafening roar the venue acknowledged Silas as he took to the stage, running from the wings, and howling into the microphone. He delivered an electric performance of a crowd favourite, Fast and Furious, and Jane steadied herself and observed him with awe. He’d cut his long hair off, and looked all the better for it. The last ramifications of the late 1980s had been stripped away along with his perm. He was slender, clean shaven and fresh faced, wearing faded denim jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He looked good.
The group knocked out a couple of the well-known numbers from the last album and started in on some new material. Jane wasn’t overly familiar with the music. She had bought a copy but it hadn’t graced her turntable often as of yet. The new tunes were still heavy, but less aggressive, more melodic somehow. Jane had a sense that the lyrics were more meaningful than they had been before the group took a break. Roy had been right. The group had evolved, and the new stuff was going down well with the fans.
Forgetting about Terri, forgetting everything, Jane immersed herself in the music and jumped and danced along with everyone else around her, screaming herself hoarse every time a tune came to an end.
Wild Dogz were dynamic on stage, individual members switching places every minute or so, ensuring everyone got a glimpse of their favourites. Silas leapt and swooped and danced around the stage, a never ending source of energy and passion. His voice, rich and deep, howled with derision and pain one moment, and snarled with contempt the next. He was bewitching and Jane became breathless simply from watching him.
With every well-known track the group played, the fans would surge forwards towards the stage, as though trying to join the group there. After each wave, Jane found herself a tiny bit closer to the stage as other people fell back. Security personnel lifted those who were being crushed by the weight of the pressure behind them, or handed off the crowd surfers as they reached them. After an hour of the band playing to the wired crowd, Jane found herself only eight feet or so from the stage. A little too close for comfort. She was about to attempt a retreat, not easy with several thousand people behind her, when those five discordant notes changed her life forever.
Chapter 4
The Unquiet Moon had been the stand out track on Forever Carnal, mainly because it was the only ballad Wild Dogz had ever written. The song consisted of scant guitar from Bobo over a minimalist drum accompaniment from Mikhail, and a chance for Silas to showcase his vocals to a hushed crowd, lighters at the ready.
Those five notes triggered total mayhem for a full thirty seconds, the reverb hanging in the air until everyone in the audience had quietened down. When there was total silence, Silas sang acapella, ‘I see you but you don’t see me, I know I’m not the one you would like me to be, we’re ships passing by in the black of the night, but living without you just doesn’t feel right,’ and the crowd joined in with chorus
It’s an unquiet moon when we’re star crossed
Lost without hope
Yes, we’re star crossed
And it’s taking its toll
Cos we’re star crossed
Amorphous souls
Travelling the skies alone
At the end of the first chorus, the pace picked up a little and Bobo’s guitar meandered around a rolling drum cascade, like the tide running over pebbles. Silas prowled around the front of the stage, looking out at the fans there, who waved their arms and reached for him. A number of women called his name. At this stage of the song he liked to pick a woman from the audience and bring her onto the stage. Jane remembered seeing him do this at the last gig. It had been easier at a smaller venue, because now the barriers prevented easy access.
Jane swayed along with the men and women around her, her shining face turned up to the stage, her lips curled in a half smile, and then Silas glanced her way and did a double take. He smiled back at her, his teeth white and even. Leaning down to one of the bulky security men in front of the stage, Silas pointed Jane out to him. The security chap nodded and gestured for Jane to come toward him.
Horrified Jane shook her head, but the crowd behind her pushed her forward, laughing and clapping. Those in front of her moved aside to ease her passing and as she reached the barrier, wondering how she would climb over it, a chunky fan with a tattooed skull and a nose ring hoisted her into the air with ease and handed her over the railing to the security chap. He in turn manoeuvred her to the side of the stage where there were some rickety steps she could climb.
Mortified, Jane ascended the wooden stairs. Silas held out his right hand to her, and began singing the second verse into the microphone in his left hand as she inched towards him. As she reached him she let him take her hand, and he dropped to one knee to kiss her knuckles. She blushed furiously, her muscles weak with terror, praying he wouldn’t ask her to either sing along or say something to the thousands of fans watching them.
Keepers of the Flame: A love story Page 2
